Remedy and other stories
by ultharkitty
Summary: TF Prime. A set of prompt response stories set in the Prime 'verse. Can involve any characters. See headers for content advice. Some contain explicit sticky or tactile, some are gen.
1. Remedy, Knock Out and Breakdown

**Characters:** Knock Out and Breakdown

**Content advice: **crack, explicit sticky smut, slight spoilers for episode 11.

**Summary:** After the events of episode 11, Knock Out could do with some cheering up.**  
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**Notes: **This is a set of three ficlets that I wrote for a challenge. They're not intended to be serious, just a bit of cracky fun. These are set directly after episode 11, and were written before episode 12 had aired.

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><p>.<p>

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><p>Knock Out lay on his berth, one arm draped over his face, the other dangling off the edge. "You'll polish me, won't you?" he moaned to Breakdown, his voice conveying the world of woe and melodrama.<p>

"It'll hurt," Breakdown warned.

"I don't care!" Knock Out peered through his arm, the missing door enabling him to see Breakdown's unimpressed expression. "Just do it!" He flexed his talons for emphasis. "It's bad enough being all… scratched up. I won't be dull and dusty as well!"

Breakdown shrugged. He knelt on the edge of the berth, and tipped a little polish onto a cloth. "You got scratches in your scratches," he said. "This is _really _gonna sting."

"For Cybertron's sake get on with it!" Knock Out snapped. Five astroseconds later, as Breakdown worked the polish over his ruined paint job, Knock Out began to regret his request. But he bore it, and would continue to bear it for as long as it took.

At least in the end, no matter how marred his bodywork, he would gleam again.

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><p>.<p>

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><p>"We could always…" Breakdown let the suggestion hang. The polish hadn't exactly been a success, but Knock Out was still attractive. Nice lines, broad shoulders, and highly desirable colouration. And the scratches weren't <em>that <em>obvious, not if he unfocussed his optics.

"I can't," Knock Out moaned. He lay on his berth, his door-less left arm still flopped over his optics. "My finish is ruined!"

"It's not so bad," Breakdown lied. He held his hand out flat above a section of paint that had, miraculously, been missed by Starscream. Best not to touch right now, just let their energy fields press lightly together and hope it got his partner even a little bit revved.

"It's _awful!_" Knock Out cried, although he didn't move away. "It's hideous, I'm disfigured!"

Breakdown sighed. "You can always get a repaint."

This caused a reaction, but not the one Breakdown was hoping for. Knock Out tensed, his tone snapping from melodramatic to terse. "And how in the name of Cybertron am I meant to do _that?_" He shifted, finally, flopping onto his front and pressing his face into the berth. "I can't get off the ship, I can't move around without being watched. I can't even go up on the flight deck for some air! And if I did somehow get that miracle repaint, Commander Control-Freak would just… do this again. Eugh."

There was no arguing with that. "Yeah," Breakdown said. "Vindictive glitch." He sat heavily on the edge of the bunk; this was hopeless. Then a thought occurred to him and he perked up. He gave his partner an optimistic grin. "How about if we turn the lights out?"

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><p>.<p>

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><p>After a while, Breakdown took matters into his own hands. Quite literally. If Knock Out was too stubborn to respond to the usual flirtations, then there was nothing else for it.<p>

"If you're not in the mood…" he said.

Breakdown went over to his own bunk – oh the joys of shared accommodation – and made himself comfortable. Giving Knock Out a not-so-subtle leer, he activated the release for his interface hatch. Hydraulics sighed as his spike emerged, and he was glad he'd spent so long polishing his partner; there was nothing like a good wax and shine to build up a bit of pressure.

Knock Out twitched. Still lying face down on his bunk, he moved his head so that he could see.

Suppressing a grin, Breakdown focused on his spike. Couldn't look at Knock Out now, couldn't talk to him. Had to make him crave the attention, get him so worked up he wouldn't be able to help himself.

Breakdown began to fondle his spike. The nodes tingled, little jolts of pleasure sparking through him as he traced his fingertips lightly over the complex metal surface. A soft noise from Knock Out, but he resisted looking. Focus on the spike, only on the spike. And damn, it was a nice spike, well worth the money he'd spent on upgrades. Good design, just the right arrangement of ridges and grooves, wide too, proportionate to his frame.

There was a subtle clang as Knock Out sat up, the smallest of clicks as his thermostat tripped. Breakdown clamped his lip components together and slid down onto his back. His spike gleamed, slick and ready and fully pressurised. The whirr of Knock Out's fans was wonderful, the crackle as his vocaliser engaged, then the tense silence as he said nothing at all.

Breakdown bucked his hips, gripping his spike firmly in his hand. Then he revved his engine, sending vibrations shooting through his interface array, and began to slowly, luxuriantly stroke himself.

"You, uh…" Knock Out began, then stopped to cough the static from his voice. "You look like you could use some help."

Breakdown murmured – acknowledgement without response. He concentrated on the soft warmth of the lubricant on his fingers, the graze of charge as ridges and nodes made contact with the sensors on his palm. And all the while the feel of Knock Out's optics on him, watching, taking him in.

Knock Out tried again, and his voice this time was smooth, confident. "You know what's better than self service?"

Finally, Breakdown spoke. "Thought you didn't fancy it." He groaned, pausing to squeeze the very tip of his spike, then run his fingers down to the base. "Oh frag yeah, that feels _so _good."

"I'm in the mood _now_," Knock Out declared. The bunk creaked as he leapt on, straddling Breakdown's legs and looming over him, that wicked gleam back in his optics. "And I could make it feel _so_ much better."

"Doing fine… by myself!" Breakdown gasped as Knock Out slid a claw tip between his spike and his hand. Then he sighed, relaxing as his partner gently prised back each of his fingers. Warm air grazed over the nodes, and he shuddered. But it was rapidly followed by a far better kind of heat as Knock Out settled on top of him, all sleek curves and gleaming metal, and eased himself onto Breakdown's spike.

_Finally_, Breakdown thought. He slid his hands over Knock Out's thighs, careful as he would have been before Starscream's punishment, and gripped him lightly by the hips.

"Feeling better yet?" he grinned.

Knock Out's engine purred, and his valve clenched. "Mmmmm… A little."

Breakdown made his own engine roar, channelling the vibrations through his interface hardware. Knock Out moaned, his valve clenching hard, and Breakdown's grin widened. "How about now?"


	2. Ratchet's first time, plus tentacles

**Setting:** Prime, set on Cybertron before the war.**  
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**Content Advice:** explicit consensual sticky with tentacles, het, OC.

**Characters:** Ratchet/OC: Torque

**Summary:** Ratchet's medical education gets a little intimate when he gets overcharged and over-friendly with his mentor.

**Notes:** This one's for Aniay, who requested TFP Ratchet.

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><p><strong>.<strong>

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><p>Ratchet wasn't entirely sure how he ended up on his mentor's bunk. He knew high grade had come into it, and an intense curiosity about a) what his mentor could do with those tentacles of hers, and b) exactly how the instructions in the manual would pan out in real life. But as for the mechanics, it was all lost in a heady haze of overcharge.<p>

"Ready?" Torque grinned; her optics were half shuttered and two of her tentacles were already curling around Ratchet's thighs.

"As I'll ever be!" Ratchet said, trying not to laugh. The touch tickled, and he wriggled as Torque leaned close to give him a kiss that tasted of the finest energon Ratchet had ever had the pleasure of imbibing. Then he squirmed as those tentacles got a firmer purchase and eased his thighs apart.

The tip of one slid over his spike cover, while two more wound themselves around his arms and gently pulled them above his head. He tensed, still trying not to laugh, but also just a little wary about being so vulnerable.

"Relax," Torque whispered, and her smile was wicked as she operated the manual override to both his spike and valve covers at once.

Ratchet gasped, unable to stop himself from writhing. Oh scrap, he couldn't see past the cable wrapped around his waist, but something was circling the rim of his valve. Something else, slick and hot and sinuous, was wrapping itself around his stiffening spike.

His valve clenched despite that he wanted to relax, and his core temperature skyrocketed. Then an extra pressure on his valve, the slender tip of a slippery tentacle pushing just a little way inside him. He froze, a moan caught in his vocaliser as the tentacle was joined by another, the two sliding over and past each other in a unpredictable and thrilling, undulating rhythm.

They were dextrous in a way that Ratchet's own fingers certainly weren't, and Torque sure knew her way around a valve. It took a while for the tension to ebb away, but slowly Ratchet's charge built, his frame buzzing and his interface circuits burning. He overloaded around the tentacles, and it was so much more intense than he had ever accomplished alone.

Then he writhed anew as the tentacles slid out and Torque leaned down between his thighs. Something new pressed against his valve, and a fresh, needy ache cut through the satisfaction of his climax.

"Would you like this?" Torque asked, holding still, waiting.

Ratchet nodded furiously; the thought of having her spike him was just too good to refuse. "Yes!" he groaned. "Oh scrap yes!"

Torque smiled and slid inside.


	3. Knock Out and Ratchet before the war

**Title:** Before the War  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> Prime, AU  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Content advice:<strong> mention of violence and implied non-consensual medical procedures  
><strong>Characters andor pairings:** Ratchet, Knock Out, OC ensemble  
><strong>Summary:<strong> A set of seven themed microfics about Ratchet and Knock Out, set before the war. These combine to tell one very simple story.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written for Onyx17, who asked for Ratchet and Knock Out meeting before the war as young medics.

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><p>.<p>

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><p><strong>Bar<strong>

There was a problem, Ratchet thought, with bars cheap enough that he could afford to drink there. He glared at the slick and ostentatiously curvaceous new medic and huffed. They attracted all kinds of scrap.

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><p><strong>Professionalism<strong>

Whatever Ratchet thought about his personal life – which wasn't a lot – the new medic was at least competent.

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><p><strong>Annoyances<strong>

"_Where_," Ratchet began again. "_Is. My. Thermostatic adjustor!_"

And again Knock Out shrugged. "Over there, somewhere. How do you expect me to know?"

"Because you were the last one to use it?" Ratchet snapped.

"Oh that's right," Knock Out sneered. "Blame me for _your_ tools going missing. If you have this much of a problem, perhaps you should put your _name_ on them? Hmm?"

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><p><strong>Recreation<strong>

Knock Out transformed his hand into a drill. The patient stared up at him, optics wide and mouth moving, but he couldn't speak, couldn't scream. His expression was glorious.

"Come now," Knock Out said. "No need to be afraid. This is all for your own good."

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><p><strong>Multi-talented<strong>

Aggravating as he was, Ratchet didn't suspect that anything was wrong with Knock Out's working methods until the day he disappeared.

The mess was staggering. It was a surprise anyone was alive in there.

Ratchet coped as he always did. With enough yelling and cursing and straight-up perseverance, anything could be achieved.

The mech recovered, but no-one saw Knock Out for dust.

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><p><strong>Workaholic<strong>

After Knock Out's disappearance, the bulk of the work fell to Ratchet, but he didn't mind. He could locate all his tools, for a start, and there were no more snide, sarcastic comments, no more all-night parties while he was trying to recharge.

It was peaceful, and he valued that. It gave him the mental space he needed to get the best out of his work.

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><p><strong>Roadside<strong>

Knock Out pulled up and took one last look at the hospital.

Getting carried away had been a mistake, but leaving was the best thing he'd ever done. War was in the air, factions were emerging. He'd heard of a military base near Kaon that needed a medic, no questions asked, no irritating civilian moral bias to get in his way.

If war came, he knew which side would serve his interests best.


	4. First time fic, Knock Out

**Setting:** Cybertron, pre-war

**Content advice:** consensual tactile, unnamed OC.

**Summary: **Knock Out doesn't so much lose his virginity as gleefully abandon it.

**Notes:** Written for the 'How did they lose their virginity?' meme. This one's for Onyx17.

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><p>.<p>

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><p>"Well, you're a pretty one."<p>

Knock Out froze. Was that directed at him?

"Nice curves, good bodywork." The mech approached, all sleek lines himself. A similar frame type, but larger, and purple as a vehicon. "But there's just one question."

"What's that?" Knock Out said, and cursed the pride that made his mouth curve up in a grin. This mech obviously wanted something, and young as he was Knock Out knew that what someone wanted might not be what he was prepared to give.

The larger mech gave him a long and calculating glance. "Do you feel as good as you look?"

The answer, it turned out, was yes. From both perspectives.

Knock Out writhed on the bunk, as the stranger - who cared about his name? There was a war on, they could all be dead tomorrow! - slid a soft cloth the length of his frame, following his curves, teasing his seams. He liked to touch, it turned out, to feel, and scrap but that felt good. As far as Knock Out was concerned, he could keep it up as long as he liked.

"Gorgeous," the stranger said, and Knock Out reached for his cube of high grade, grinning happily.

"I am?" he said, although he already knew the answer. "What else am I?"

"Touchable," the mech slid the cloth along his shoulder, then down between his thighs. "Exciting, well-made, perfect..."

"I like perfect best," Knock Out said as the charge peaked and a rush of heat and fierce, tingling excitement exploded out from his very spark. "Oh wow... Oh _wow_."

"You like that?" the stranger asked.

Knock Out grinned. "Do it again."


	5. Arcee, joining team Prime

**Notes: **Written for the prompt 'Arcee: joining team Prime'.

PG, gen, spoilers for season 1.

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><p><em>.<em>

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><p>"I don't need another partner." Arcee crossed her arms, trying her best to look closed, hostile.<p>

Optimus gave a solemn nod. "I understand your concerns," he said. "But we have a war to fight, I need the best people. I need you on my team."

"I'm not the best people," Arcee glared at the floor. "The best people are dead."

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><p>.<p>

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><p>"Going somewhere?" The red grounder sat on a heap of scrap, his weapon in pieces around him. He didn't raise his head, but his voice carried.<p>

Arcee swerved and transformed. "What's it to you?"

"Thought you were joining us," the red mech replied. He picked up a section of barrel and gave it a close inspection, still not looking at her. "The name's Cliffjumper. You look streamlined, you fast?"

"Faster than you," Arcee said, not caring if it was a lie. "I'm not staying."

This time, he did look up. "Really? What're you going to do?"

Arcee reverted to alt mode, gunned her engine. "Got a score to settle."

"Yeah," Cliffjumper said. "Tailgate. I heard."

"You heard scrap." Smoke clouded the horizon; the highway vanished into sickly grey, but still it was more attractive than staying.

"I heard you got aim," Cliffjumper said. "We could use a sharp shooter." He threw the weapon back together, each part clicking neatly into the next. Not a rookie, this one knew his way around a rifle. "Still think you're faster than me?"

Maybe, she thought. "Without a doubt."

"Race you," Cliffjumper said. Quick flash of a grin, and he threw himself into alt. "To the old factory and back. You win, you go. I win..."

"I'm _not_ staying."

"I win," Cliffjumper repeated, "you think about it. That's all."

The smoke grew darker; lightning flickered, unnatural, highlighting the cracks in the road. Arcee pulled up alongside him. "You're on."


	6. Ratchet and the Glowing Green Serum

Ratchet's experiments take him over the edge, but do the ends justify the means?

Contains: Cybertronian zombies, major character death. References to H. P. Lovecraft's 'Herbert West: Re-Animator'.

Written for tf_speedwriting's Spam Weekend, to the prompt: _Task: Take your favorite Halloween horror movie monster (vampires, Frankenstein's monster, zombies, witches, etc) and create a Transformer-ized version._

This might be kinda cheating because TFP has canon zombies, but I do love zombiefic, especially Lovecraftian zombiefic.

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><p>.<p>

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><p>Bumblebee was the first. He should have died in battle, but he made it as far as Ratchet's operating table before his spark flared that one final time.<p>

There was no room for hesitation; Ratchet seized the vial of glowing green serum, a mix of dark and synthetic energons the result of centuries of secret experimentation. He injected the liquid, and rushed to strap Bumblebee down. Just in case.

Arcee was the second, her spark half torn out, her frame marked with streaks of yellow and black. Bumblebee's restraints had not been strong enough.

Ratchet squirted the refined formula directly into her fuel pump just as the final flicker of her neural activity failed. He didn't tie her down, he was so sure. But when she woke, she came to screaming, punched him straight in the face, and he didn't see her for dust.

The third was a Vehicon, nameless, disposable. Ratchet made sure to secure him to the berth while he was still alive, and waited for his death to come. Freshness, he knew, was the key. The older the corpse, the worse the results. The formula worked on scraplets and Insecticons, provided they were newly dead, it should work on mechanisms of a higher order.

The Vehicon writhed into undeath, in pain, certainly, but lucid. It spoke, it begged, it pleaded for Ratchet to stop the torture, to have mercy. In the end, Ratchet took his readings and cut his losses. Life was a gift, and if the Vehicon didn't want it, so be it.

All that mattered was the serum. Ratchet was so close. One more subject, one more refinement, and he was sure he'd have what he needed.

He glanced at Optimus, ever hopeful for some miracle, but none was forthcoming. The Prime lay in stasis, exactly as he had every day for the past three years. Motionless, kept alive by the machines around him. He wouldn't wake up without help.

Ratchet turned back to his work. One more refinement, that was all he needed. Just one more test.


End file.
